


The Note From Which A Chord Is Built

by orphan_account



Category: Olympics RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: M/M, Music, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, break-ups, gifted!Michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 17:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1656218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During training camp Michael showcases a hidden talent. Then there are awkward tears and even more awkward feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Note From Which A Chord Is Built

* * *

It’s Michael’s last time at training camp so everyone rallies behind Ryan after rookie skits, trying to get Michael to do something embarrassing in honor of the occasion. “It’s not training camp until the retiring veterans completely humiliate themselves in a manner  that will become legend among our fellow Olympians and those who follow in our footsteps,” Ryan intones regally, “And, Mikey... it’s your year.”

“I’m not gonna embarrass myself on purpose,” Michael says, shaking his head. “I do it enough on accident already. And don’t call me Mikey.”

Conor Dwyer pipes up, “If you won’t do something embarrassing then do something impressive.”

“You speak words of true intelligence, young Dwyer,” Ryan says sagely. “Now, come, noble Michael and show us your hidden talents; amaze us with your secret abilities- that is if you have any.”

“Are you challenging me?” Michael asks with his head quirked to one side.

“Hell yeah, I am.” Ryan smirks. “In fact, everyone who is challenging Michael raise your hands.”

Every hand in the room goes up. Ryan’s laugh reaches a level unbearable to human ears and with a look of almost psychotic intent Michael says, “Shut the fuck up and find me a guitar.”

Ryan presses one button on his iPhone’s touch screen speed dial and ten minutes later Michael is sitting on the floor with his fellow swimmers crowded in a circle around him as he cradles a beat up acoustic in his arms, fiddling with the tuning machines to get the each string wound tight enough to produce the right sound. Ryan tosses a guitar pick at Michael’s head hoping to hit him in the eye only for Michael to snatch it out of the air with ninja-like precision. Michael then asks sarcastically, “Any requests?”

The room erupts in noise as everyone starts talking over one another.

“Justin Bieber!” Allison squeaks excitedly.

“Bruce Springsteen!” Matt shouts.

“Anita Baker!” Cullen suggests.

“Foo Fighters!” Conor crows.

“Colbie Caillat!” Katie hollers, one fist pumped in the air.

“Johnny Cash!” Ricky and Nathan say in unison, high fiving once they realize they’ve both suggested the same thing.

“Everybody shut the fuck up!” Ryan bellows and the other swimmers go silent like a class of third graders listening to their teacher. He says, “Since this show of musical prowess was my idea, I get to choose the song.”

“Bullshit!” Conor practically howls, “It was my idea!”

“That may be true, but I found the guitar so fuck off,” Ryan quips.

“Will all you blowhards just calm down? Jeez.” Michael sighs. “I’ll pick the song.”

“Okay, Mr. Rockstar,” Ryan says as he drops into the only empty space left in the circle surrounding Michael, positioning himself between Katie and Ricky. “Show us what you got.”

“Okay,” Michael nods, takes a deep breath, and strums out the first chord. He opens his mouth and sings as his hands coax a sad melody out of the old guitar until the combination of both turns out to be a very beautiful rendition of _Here Without You_ by Three Doors Down. He also sings Rise Against’s _Swing Life Away_ and _I’ll Be_ by Edwin McCain. To say that people are shocked is an understatement. By the time he’s done Allison is crying, Ricky is too, and Matt looks like he’s pulling the old ‘something stuck in my eye’ routine.

“Play something else,” Ryan prompts.

“Like what?” Michael asks.

“Do you write your own stuff?” Allison asks, then dreamily gushes, “That’s so awesome!” when Michael nods. “Will you play one for us?”

Michael nods, shifts his hand along the neck of the guitar and strums a new tune. “Just don’t laugh.” Michael remarks before beginning to sing.

_It’s not a silly little moment_

_It’s not the storm before the calm_

_This is the deep and dying breath of this love that we’ve been working on_

_Can’t seem to hold you like I want to_

_So I can feel you in my arms_

_Nobody’s gonna come and save us_

_We’ve pulled too many false alarms_

_We’re going down and I can see it too_

_We’re going down and I know that we’re doomed_

_My dear, we’re slow dancing in a burning room_

The air in the room seems to turn electric as Michael continues on. Ryan feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as Michael’s voice grows bold and suddenly he feels that his skin has shrunk a couple of sizes too small. It’s as if every strum of that guitar wrenches something out from deep within him, leaving him torn open and raw. And still Michael sings.

_You were the one I’d always dreamed of_

_You were the one I tried to draw_

_How dare you say it’s nothing to me_

_Baby you’re the only light I ever saw_

_I’ll make the most of all the sadness_

_You’ll be a dick because you can_

_You try to hit me just to hurt me_

_Then you leave me feeling dirty cause you can’t understand_

Ryan looks around, tries to act cool, but the power of the song is overwhelming him. He doesn’t dare make eye contact with anyone; he fears that they might see him actually being vulnerable. Michael’s voice cracks a little as he repeats the chorus and when Ryan looks up he sees tears forming in the corners of other man’s eyes. A single tear rolls down Michael’s left cheek but his facial expression stays neutral as he sings the outro.

_We’re going down and you can see it too_

_We’re going down and you know that we’re doomed_

_My dear, we’re slow dancing in a burning room_

_Don’t you think we ought to know by now_

_Don’t you think we should’ve learned somehow_

_My dear, we’re slow dancing in a burning room_

Ryan wants to push that damned old guitar out of Michael’s hands and hug him as tight as possible but Allison quickly scuttles over to Michael on her knees, apparently executing the same plan Ryan has come up with. “That was beautiful,” Allison sniffles as she hugs Michael’s neck. “It was sad, but still so beautiful.”

“Yeah, man,” Cullen agrees sagely. “That shit was deep.”

“Well now that I’ve fulfilled the requirements of this challenge I’m going to bed” Michael says brusquely once he’s managed to untangle himself from Allison and her octopus-like grip. Then he’s off like a rocket down the hallway toward the room he’s sharing with Ryan.

“Wow,” Ricky says in an awed voice. “If he moved any faster there would’ve been a trail of dust left behind him just like _The Roadrunner_.”

“You gotta go handle that, dude.” Matt says to Ryan. “It’s obvious something’s wrong.”

“I know,” Ryan replies. “Everybody just give him some space for a while and I’ll find out what’s up.” He gets up and heads down the hallway just as Michael did moments before, only decidedly slower.

\--

When Ryan enters their room he finds Michael sitting cross-legged on his bed, silently crying. His eyes are red and his chest heaves with uneven inhalations of breath. “Well, Goddamn,” Michael says when he notices Ryan standing over him. He puts his head in his hands, muffled voice uttering, “I hate it when people see me cry.”

“There’s nothing wrong with crying every once and awhile” Ryan tells him. “You can’t keep everything all bottled up inside.”

“I guess,” Michael shrugs a shoulder. “I don’t even know why that made me so upset. Maybe it was just because I was thinking about him.”

“Who’s him?” Ryan asks.

“Aaron,” Michael sighs. “He’s the one I wrote the song about.”

“Aaron? As in Aaron Peirsol?” Ryan’s eyes go wide as he speaks. “I thought Aaron was straight.”

“He is now,” Michael says in a _‘What Can You Do’_ manner. “He wasn’t always, though.”

“So what happened?”

“I gave him everything I had; that’s what happened. My first kiss. My first date. My first.... well there were a lot of firsts.” Michael states matter-of-factually. “I guess one day he just changed his mind. I was fourteen when I met him. He was this older guy with sandy blonde hair, a cute smile, and a perpetual tan.... like some kind of California demi-god. I basically thought he hung the moon. Turns out the only thing he hung was me out to dry.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” Ryan says sincerely.

“Thanks, I guess. Oh God, I just totally pulled a Taylor Swift out there didn’t I?” Michael asks, laughing at himself.

“Yeah, you kinda did,” Ryan replies, laughing along with the other swimmer. Ryan sits down beside Michael on the bed, reaches out a hand to wipe a tear off Michael’s cheek only for the other Olympian to catch his arm at the wrist and stop him.

“Please don’t touch me when I’m like this,” Michael says in a hushed tone. “You’ll make me start expecting things.”

“Uh... okay.” Ryan nods, places his hands in his lap. “I don’t understand that, but whatever.”

“You know how in high school there was always that one girl who suddenly fell madly in love with you just because you held a door open for her or picked up her pencil when she dropped it?” Michael says. “Well, that’s me. I’m the male version of that girl. The moment a guy does anything even remotely nice for me I fall head over heels. I don’t wanna do that with you. I don’t wanna ruin our friendship.”

“I understand,” Ryan says, even though he really doesn’t. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

“No,” Michael answers softly. “When I get like this I usually just bawl my eyes out for about fifteen minutes then I’m okay again.”

“That doesn’t sound very healthy,” Ryan remarks.

Michael sighs, looks Ryan square in the eye and says, “Nothing about love ever is.”

**Author's Note:**

> The song Michael wrote for Aaron in this fic is actually "Slow Dancing In A Burning Room" by John Mayer.


End file.
